


Storytelling

by NixKat



Category: Ben 10 Series
Genre: Friendship, Gen, One Shot, Plotting Murder, Prison, Revenge, Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixKat/pseuds/NixKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At lunch Aggregor strikes up a conversation with ex-warden Morgg and reminisces about a lost friendship. The Osmosian warlord may have a bone to pick with Kwarrel's murderer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storytelling

Stories are wonderful things.

The story is a creature with many, many forms and just many names. It could be a narrative, a tale, an account, a plot, an explanation, a description, a report, an anecdote, a legend, a saga, a myth, a fable, and even a life. A good story could take the listener to another world as easily as it could make them fall in love or charge into battle without fear. A story could just as well entertain as teach a harsh lesson.

It is also possible for an exceptionally gifted Storyteller to weave magic with their words.

I slowly sipped cold, bitter leaf (?)-water (I had asked for tea) from a plain metal cup as I listened to one of my fellow inmates tell one. The eating-place of the Altrezca prison was much noisier and much more social than any mealtime in the Null Void Incarcecon, in that prison I hadn’t  been allowed to leave my holding cell. The deep brown-green skinned being, however, sat close enough that it wasn’t too difficult to hear him.

I imagine that the ex-warden chose my company out of fear of the others. I breathed deeply to feel his spark buzz much brighter than it had when he was in a position of authority to confirm my guess. It’s likely that Morgg considered me, a polite Person with my ability to absorb suppressed by the infernal device attached to my back and sitting alone, as much less a threat than most of the other inmates. I found that to be rather insulting but I had struck up a conversation nonetheless. My normal companion had been quite since my half-breed kin stole my hard-earned power and my chance at The Ultimate Prize, I’d have to hear his story one day before avenging myself on him.

“What did the hatchling accuse you of?” I asked, genuinely curious and absolutely board out of my axial skeleton.

“Levin? The punk claimed that I murdered one of his fellow prisoners during a riot. Some fellow named Kwarrel.” The ex-warden stated smoothly as he sipped his own drink. The other hadn’t seemed to notice the twitch of my hand or the brief tensing of my shoulders.

The name brought back memories of pain and blood and battle and most importantly loss from before my hatching. Kwarrel. I remembered a strong bond with a close ally—no closer, with spirit kin. I remembered sharing stories and fighting many forced battles together. I remembered the stabbing pain of loss and cold consuming fear the Other endured when taken to be used as a tool. I remembered the death of a soul from isolation and despair of an unknown fate of another considered kin. I had already learned of the fate of the Other’s spirit kin from the prisoner Quince at the beginning of our temporary stay at Altrezca due to renovations at Incarcecon. The wound left by the One Before was a festering oozing sore that any thoughts of His close bonded caused me… discomfort to say the least.      

“You didn’t?” I asked care to keep the venom out of my voice. It was one thing to hear the story from the perspective of a prisoner and friend of the victim and another to hear it from the accused. I sipped my possibly leaf-water and subtlety bit the edges of the metallic cup.

“No,” I briefly saw something in his red and black eyes at that moment, I could only describe it as smugness. “That prisoner was likely killed by some of the others during the riot. I was close by, true, but I was trying to help my fellow guards calm things down.”

“Is that true? Odd, you would think that a peacekeeper like he would have very few enemies.” The rim of my cup was sharp enough to sting my tongue now and near empty.

“Yes it is.” The scaly alien replied in a tone that hinted that he no longer wished to discuss the topic.

Nothing wrong with granting a dead being one last request.

 

 

.....................Merrowww………………….


End file.
